Date: Thu, 8 Nov 2018 08:58:36 +0000 (UTC) From: Peter Brown Subject: Queen Mary Bell Boys Chapter 100 Queen Mary Bell-boys by badboi666 =============================================================================== If sex with boys isn't your thing, go away. If, as is much more likely, you've come to this site precisely to get your rocks off reading about sex with 14-year-olds then make yourself comfortable - you're in the right place. Don't leave, however, without doing this: Donate to Nifty - these buggers may do it for love but they still have to eat. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html =============================================================================== Chapter 100 When the dust had settled later that morning Sir told me what had happened before I'd become involved. No sooner had we docked and the crew gangway was on than a New York Port cop had come up. When he got to the top he'd told the crewman on duty to fetch Mr Corrigan immediately. The crewman told someone to "get Corrigan fast". When Sir arrived the cop pointed to a figure standing at the foot of the gangway. "This kid says he's one of yours. Is that true?" Sir looked down at a very dejected and ill-used Prince. "Yes, he's a crew member all right. He missed the sailing from New York last time we were here." (This was quick thinking, as you'll hear.) "Someone's beaten him up, but don't for one minute think it was us. He was like that when he tried to get onto the pier. I didn't believe him - we get a lot of deadbeats in this sector, but he convinced me when he was able to give some names. You're his boss, is that right?" Sir agreed. "Well, he deserved a good licking, but I'll leave that to you." He turned to Prince. "Come on up, kid, Mr Corrigan says you belong." Prince had scampered up the gangway and Sir shook the cop's hand. "Thank you, officer, we've been very worried about him. Please buy yourself a drink," and he put $20 in the cop's hand. "Thank you, Mr Corrigan, I can't accept a tip, but I'll put it in the police charity fund," and off he went. Sir turned to Prince. "Go straight to my office and wait for me inside." Sir then went to find me. "Patrick, do me a favour. Go to the canteen and get a good breakfast and lots of coffee on a tray and bring it my office. Don't let anyone bring it: you must wait and bring it yourself. If anyone makes a difficulty say it's on my direct orders. Quick as you can please." It took only six minutes until I was knocking with the tray. Sir opened the door and to my astonishment Prince was with him. "Prince!" I said, "thank God you're back." He had eyes only for the food, and Sir pointed to a chair while Prince demolished bacon and eggs and rolls. Sir poured coffee for all three of us, and we waited. It would be worth hearing. "Before you say anything, Prince, let me say this. I want a full explanation. You're not in trouble with me, and you still have a job as a bell boy, but I expect honesty. If you've made a mistake you aren't the first 15-year-old to do so. Now, what happened?" Prince's story was hard to believe, but it tied in with what Sir and I had suggested to Inspector Grant in Southampton, and his injuries were genuine. His sexual encounters with Edward had been so exciting that he had readily agreed to Edward's suggestion that he should leave Queen Mary in New York and live with Edward. He'd worried about how to get off the ship as bell boys weren't allowed off, but Edward said he'd deal with that. "How did he work it?" asked Sir. "He had a fancy Passport which meant his luggage wasn't searched in Customs. I was crouched down in a big cabin trunk. Luckily I was only in it for about an hour, and it was bloody scary, but when the trunk was out of the port building he opened it and I got out." That was when things started to go wrong. Edward was not what he had seemed. Edward and Prince had been driven to a place about two hours away: Prince had no idea where it was. During the drive Edward had hardly said a word, which Prince thought very odd as Edward and he had got on so well on Queen Mary. At that time Prince still thought that he and Edward were, if not lovers, then certainly wrapped up in each other. During their night together all sorts of plans about their future together had been discussed, after all. On arrival at a farm the driver took Prince to a building with a bedroom. "This is yours. You live here with the other boys. Get to know them." The outside door shut. Prince heard it lock. It took him all of five seconds to work out what an idiot he'd been. The other boys turned out to be three white boys of around Prince's age. They were naturally curious about the newcomer and one was offended that "a fucking nigger" was joining them. The other two had told him to shut up, which he quickly did. Prince was not only a great deal fitter than the three inmates, but his immediate reaction on being called a nigger was to ball his fists. "Cool it, dude," said one of the kids, and an uneasy peace reigned. The four of them sat down to talk, and Prince discovered that, ironically enough, he had gone from being a whore in a high-class floating brothel (in which he shared in the profits) to being a whore in a low-class land-based brothel in which the only things he would share (apart from clients) would be beatings. These beating were usually at the hands of clients. The three boys had been trapped for several months and Prince was evidently there to satisfy clients who wanted to fuck, and presumably ill-treat, a black boy. Prince never told us the details of what had happened during the eleven days he was there. He was fucked every day, sometimes by more than one man. He never saw Edward again. He was beaten by four men, on one occasion by two men at the same time. None of the fucks was prepared - it was effectively rape. For Prince it was like being 12 again. All the fucks happened in his bedroom, so when he cried himself to sleep, as he admitted he did every night he was there, he was in the very bed where his life had turned to a living hell. He couldn't see any way out. The driver, who was Edward's enforcer, locked the outer door every night. On the eleventh day the driver appeared in Prince's room. "I want a blow job, nigger. They tell me your kind gives good head." A stinging blow landed on Prince's ear. "Get on with it." Prince knelt and fished the man's cock out. He hoped that if he gave him a good orgasm the driver wouldn't hit him again, but while he was busy an idea for escape, at least from the building, came into his head. If it was going to work it had to be done right now ... and as hard as he could he bit on the cock in his mouth. The scream of pain was encouraging. If it had hurt that much the bastard wasn't going to waste time hitting him. Prince bit again. The driver screamed again and ran out, blood pouring from his cock. Prince waited only a few seconds before running out himself, and he fled away from the farm building as fast as he could. He ran for about three miles across open country until he came to a wood where he stopped to catch his breath. There was no sign that he'd been followed. With any luck the sight of a half-severed cock bleeding all over the place would have made chasing the culprit seem relatively unimportant. Getting the driver to a doctor would have been the first priority. Prince wasn't stupid enough to think that they wouldn't come after him soon, however, so he went on through the wood putting as much distance as he could between himself and danger. He thought if they had dogs he didn't stand a chance, but he still ran on. By nightfall he reckoned he was about 15 miles away. In all that distance he hadn't come across a road. He didn't want to risk tripping in the dark, so he found shelter by a stone wall and tried to sleep. It was May, and still cold at night, but it began to get light around 5 o'clock and he decided to carry on. After another 10 miles or so he came to a road - quite a big one - and he walked along it. The sun was in his eyes, so he knew he was walking east: that was probably towards the sea, he thought. He thumbed a lift and eventually a car stopped. He was terrified for a moment that it was Edward, but his fear was misplaced. "Oh, my Lord," said the middle-aged woman who'd stopped, "you have been in the wars! I'm on my way home. Come with me and you can wash at the pump." Prince had no idea what she meant, but he was desperate, and she seemed kind, so he got in thankfully. Luckily she didn't press him for details of why a black boy, clearly exhausted and bruised, was walking along in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday morning. She drove for five or six miles to a small town. "This is Hawley, in Pennsylvania," she said, "and here's our house." Prince had found it very hard to tell the next part of his story, and he became very weepy. "They were so kind, and to a complete stranger ... a black boy who looked like death ... so kind." Sarah and her 14-year-old daughter Abigail had fed him (after he had washed under the pump, the routine of which Sarah had shown him, to the ill-concealed amusement of Abigail), and shown concern about his bruised face. "I couldn't tell them about the bits they couldn't see," he said simply. Eventually his story - or the story he decided to tell - began to emerge. He told them he had to get to New York the next day. "Oh, my Lord, that's 70 miles away." Luckily they didn't press him about why he was in the state he way, but when Abigail said she thought he must be a run-away, and Sarah shushed her ('they don't have slavery any more, foolish girl'), Prince had the wit to say that he had run away from cruel beatings. Whether the tears then were real or put on didn't matter: Sarah and Abigail didn't press. "We must get you to New York then." "It's Sunday, Ma, there's no bus from town today." "In that case, Abigail, we must take him ourselves." Prince was torn. He desperately needed to get to New York in time to rejoin Queen Mary (if he was allowed to), but he knew that asking Sarah to drive him 70 miles was a huge imposition. "You can't," he said, "it's much too far. If you tell me where to go I can hitch a lift." "Nonsense," Sarah said briskly, "it's the Lord's work to succour the stranger. Abigail, we're going to New York. Get your hat." In the event they didn't get all the way. Sarah decided that New York traffic wasn't something with which she wished to become familiar, even on a Sunday, so they dropped Prince at Newark where, he was assured, a bus would get him to the city before long. "I don't suppose you have any money, do you?" Prince was ashamed to admit that he didn't. Sarah produced $5. "No, don't refuse it, Prince, it's the Lord's work remember." This was said with a twinkle in her eye. Prince got out, doing his best not to cry as he thanked them both. "You've saved my life," he said simply, "thank you." They drove away and he watched until the car disappeared from view. A bus came about an hour later and he found that the fare to the bus terminal in New York was a lot less than $5. He arrived outside the port gates just as it was getting dark. Queen Mary would be docking 12 hours later. He spent his second night sleeping rough huddled in a doorway about half a mile along 49th Street and encountered the New York Port cop as the ship was tying up at Pier 90. He had difficulty being understood and, once understood, being believed, but eventually the cop relented and agreed to ask for "this Mr Corrigan. Don't move a muscle, boy." Sir asked Prince to strip. When he saw how badly he'd been beaten he picked up his phone and rang the ship's medical centre. "Ask a male nurse to come to my office right away please." When the nurse arrived Sir asked him to examine Prince to see what was wrong. "Don't concern yourself about how it happened - I'll deal with that. Is he fit to return to duty? Do what you can to patch him up." The nurse was about to lead Prince away, but Sir stopped him. "Make your examination here please. I have a good reason for asking this." The nurse shrugged - Sir wasn't someone he was going to argue with. After he poked and prodded and Prince had winced several times he said that there were no broken bones and that the bruises would heal in a week or two. "I don't like the look of the cuts on his back though, and I'm going to take him to the sick bay and clean them up." Sir said that was fine, but that Prince would be dressed to go to the sick bay and that I would be with him at all times. "Would you wait outside for a moment, nurse." When he'd gone and Prince was struggling into his ragged clothes Sir said, "go quickly and get his uniform. Take it to the sick bay and stick to him like glue. I don't want a word of this to get out, and I don't want the medics pumping him about how he got those lashes. The story is he missed the ship last time she was in New York, and that's all anyone needs to know. If they ask if he was beaten the answer is yes, and I'm dealing with it with the New York police. That should stop any questions. Now go." The nurse took Prince off and by the time he was being cleaned up I was back with his uniform, and able to put the lid on things. I watched, sharing in the worst of the winces. For a boy who, with good reason, had cried himself to sleep in desperation, and had cried when two strangers had been kind to him, his complete stoical silence when in obvious pain endeared him to me. When the nurse had finished with him I thanked him on Sir's behalf. "Please keep this whole business confidential," I said, "it will be dealt with at the appropriate level." I got him down to Cabin 2. Sam, Tim and Graham were there, just back from breakfast. Graham leapt up and hugged Prince, causing much discomfort. "Oh God, you're back. I thought I'd lost you." Prince put his arms round the sobbing Graham. "Ssh, ssh, I'm back. It's all over. Can you let go, because I'm covered in bruises." Sam, Tim and I quietly left them to it. 15 minutes later I felt that long enough had passed for the two of them to have finished whatever it was they found it necessary to say to each other. I went in quietly. They were both lying fully clothed on a bed, their arms around each other. Prince had his back to me, but I saw Graham's face looking happier than it's possible to imagine. "He's back," he mouthed to me. I smiled. "And?" I said quietly. He nodded. "Five minutes to sort yourselves out," I said, "then it's back to work. Come in next door, both of you, when you're tidied up." Five minutes later Graham came in, with Prince right behind him. "Sit down, the pair of you," I said. They sat close to each other on the bed facing me, holding hands. "I need to know what you feel about each other. It looks to me as though you've made a decision, but I need to hear it from you. Prince, what do you feel?" Prince looked at Graham, who smiled and nodded. "Go on," he said quietly, "tell him; he's on our side." "I've been a fucking idiot - you know that. I don't just mean about Edward, but about Graham. He's told me that he explained to you that he said he loved me - that sounds all garbled, but you know what I mean - and he thought I'd run away because of it. I ran away because I thought life with Edward would be fun - well, that went wrong, and I've learnt my lesson the hard way." Graham moved to put his arm round Prince, but remembered just in time, contenting himself with putting his hand on Prince's arm. "All the time I was locked up I remembered what he'd said, and as I got more and more miserable what he'd told me got more and more important. If another boy could love me, and was brave enough to say so, then if ever I got out of that hole I promised myself I would tell him what I felt about him." "And what did you say?" "I said `can you forgive me?', and he said of course he could. Well, what he actually said was 'don't be so fucking silly, of course I do'. Then I told him what had kept me sane while I was being raped every day - that I knew someone loved me, and with each day that went on I realised that I loved him too. I had to get back to tell him, even if that meant being sacked from Queen Mary. I had to tell Graham I loved him." Graham was in tears again as Prince turned to kiss him. I gave them a few moments. Charlie and I had been pretty teary when it first hit us, I remembered. "OK," I said, "we need to tell the others the good news. Tim and Sam will have told them that you're back in one piece, but I'm the only one who knows the details. I'd like you to tell them all tonight, Prince, if you're willing. I think they need to know." "Of course, Patrick, I'll tell my story. If they've all been worried it's only fair. Besides, they're my friends, so it's the right thing to do." I said I didn't think it would be necessary to tell them that the two of them were boyfriends as it would be obvious to anyone with half an eye. "Just go back to being on duty, both of you. Prince, I don't want you having any clients until your back's completely healed. The nurse seemed to think a week or two. Let's say no more until we leave New York next time." Prince smiled. "I'll just be a dead weight." "Don't be daft," said Graham, "you can't possibly let anyone fuck you until you're better. There's no `dead weight' about it. No fucking till New York." Prince looked him in the eye. "Except you," he whispered. I chased them out to their elevators before they became too romantic. "Work!" I cried. =============================================================================== The fun continues in Chapter 101 as Prince is welcomed back and normal life is resumed. The photographs in Queen Mary 2 are real. I saw them while making a transatlantic crossing last year, and the boy I describe as "me" is really cute. I'm sure he had adventures ... Drop me a line at badboi666@btinternet.com - that is after you've dropped nifty a few quid. ===============================================================================